In Memory
by AlexandertheMeerkat
Summary: "You've seen your brother do it to metal haven't you? So why can't you do it to flesh? Quick, Paviche, use the candle!"
1. Chapter 1

Rotti Largo paced back and forth in the highest corridor of the Gene Co building. The rich, red fabric that made up the carpet beneath his feet was a one of a kind, rare fabric, a whole different colour to one the world of peasants knew, and it was very, _very_expensive.

He pondered, that this carpet had been paid for using the money people had given him, for organs, organs that had caused many lives to be saved from fading, and caused even more lives to be abruptly ended. Life. Health. _Fashion_. Doom.

And he walked on it.

How fitting.

Rotti continued to ponder as he walked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; he'd already decided to focus on something – anything: the way that he walked, the carpet, Luigi's newest test score (top of the class, of course. At this Rotti felt a small swell of pride) – then what was taking place several floors below.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a door opening and closing, Rotti looked up to see a wrinkled, thin-haired man in a white coat approach him cautiously, it was common knowledge SurGENs didn't like surgery for fashion, only for health.

"What is the news?" Rotti growled at the SurGEN, who was fiddling with his hands nervously, the man tried to say something that came out intelligible, "Spit it out boy!"

"Y-you're wi-i-fe," The man stuttered, "S-s-sh-she didn't make it. She d-d-die-died o-on the table…"

Rotti's face went livid and his entire body became as stiff as a pole, his eyes bulged out of his head slightly and his upper lip quivered. Like something out of a cartoon, the SurGEN noted.

"Well then," despite his comically furious appearance, Rotti's voice was calm and steady, he lay a hand inside his jacket, seemingly over his heart, "I suppose you and the other SurGENs will have plenty of time to fix your mistakes."

"Sir?"

"Because you and your miserable colleges will all buried six feet beneath the ground along side her!" Rotti howled, and he drew his gun from the inside and his jacket and shot the SurGEN straight through the head.

It's to be said: he left a stain on the carpet.


	2. Chapter 2

The deceased Largo would of course be buried in the graveyard, not lashed in a pit with the organ-amputated victims of the Repo Men and members of families too poor to give their relatives a good burial. Delilah Largo lying on top of and underneath thousands of filthy, obnoxious peasants? The very thought!

No, a 7 foot statue of the Virgin Mary made out of glistening white marble, it stood proudly over a finely dug grave in the spot the damp and heavy grey clouds always seem to part for. Only perfection.

Rotti had not allowed crowds to the service; it was only himself standing solemnly next to the statue, the priest, his blessings and prayers muffled by his ridiculously large gas mask, several mourners who happened to be their, Rotti's three children and his two bodyguards. He wondered vaguely if one of them was sniffling, their eyes barely worked; they couldn't _cry _could they?

"Luigi! Come away from that tree!"

Luigi's head swiveled round at his father's call, he grunted, then took a firm hold of his penknife and attempted to dislodge the blade from the trunk. He gave a sharp yank, but his hand slipped and he fell backwards.

"Effin' tree!" He yelled. Suddenly his angry features quickly melted away into horrified ones, he clamped a hand over his mouth and looked back at the grave, "Sorry mama…" he murmured. He looked about the dirt until he spied a small clump of bluebells, and carefully he started to dig them up.

Carmela Largo, at four, had little idea of what had happened, but knew well enough her mother would never again be able to kiss her bruises better, or sing that pretty opera song that helped her go to sleep. Who would tell the tooth fairy when to come to Carmela's pillow?

She watched Luigi come over to the grave and lay a small bunch of flowers by the statue.

"Where'd you get those bwofer? She asked, Luigi didn't looked up, he just crouched by the flowers,

"By that tree."

"Did the twee kill mama?"

"Wh- How can a tree kill someone?"

"Well you were being nasty to it…"

Luigi finally turned and looked at his little sister. He had a sad yet kind look in his eyes, a look that belonged to a boy much older than twelve.

"I like to be angry, Carmela." He said, "I like to actually feel in control."

"Well," replied Carmela, "I don't feel in contwol, I feel pwetty sad. I don't wike it! I don't wanna feel sad!"

"You can't feel nothing at all, Carmy." Luigi soothed and Carmela glared at him. They held their gazes for what seemed like an age until finally Carmela's lips quivered and a tear rolled down her soft, podgy cheek.

"Are you ok sis?" Luigi frowned

"I want mama!" Carmela screamed, and then she buried her face in her brother's chest and started to cry masses of tears. Luigi stammered, his hands gesturing randomly.

Eventually he just awkwardly stroked his sister's back and murmured for her to 'watch the ascot'.

Pavi stared at the coffin, his deep blue eyes sparkling with tears. His papà was emotionless and austere, but Pavi could sense something off all the same.

"_Papà?_" He whispered, Rotti was wearing an elegant black suit, tailored silk with swirling gold patterns. The same as Luigi, weirdly.

"Hello, Paviche." Rotti muttered, and the father and son stood silent for a few seconds;

"_Madre_ was-a so pretty…"

Rotti let out a deep, distraught sigh;

"_Sì,__ mio __cavaliere,_ she was, she was…"

"Her-a face was-a pretty. _Madre_ had-a such a pretty face." He turned, and looked at his father's sombre, stone-carved face, "Why did she have to go?"

Rotti was silent. Slowly, slowly his eyes closed and his head came down to rest on his chest. Deep grey clouds rolled in from the horizon and what little sun was there that day was drowned in the darkness.

A single, solitary tear rolled slowly down Rotti's cheek.

As rain lashed down on the graveyard Pavi stood transfixed on his mother's grave, water rolled off the marble and the priest threw up his hands in prayer and still Pavi stared. The mourners muttered a funeral chant and his sister's howls grew louder and he still stared and stared until the service was over, when Rotti's rough, square hand grasped his shoulder and Paviche was led away.


	3. Chapter 3

The full moon shone down on the Largo mansion that night, the whole four-storey building illuminated as if under a spotlight in a carnival with hundreds of eyes ready to watch its upcoming act. In his bedroom Pavi's tiny body restlessly twisted under his covers, fighting back against the cold, harsh wind that rattled through his window.

Slowly, a woman's voice gently whispered; "Paviche…"

Pavi shot up in bed, but he only saw the black and leafless hands of the trees scratching against his window. Suddenly, the sweet aroma of blue rose perfume enveloped him in a comforting embrace; he had smelt the perfume before…

"Madre?"

Without a sound, Delilah Largo walked out of the air by his bedside, her tailored, white silk dress and waist-length oak-wood curls fluttered elegantly in the wind. Her crimson lips and dark, sharp eyebrows struck out on her pale, pale face.

"Hello Paviche." She said, her voice still brought a warmth to Pavi's ears

"Ma…"

The wind had strengthened outside, rattling the windows and sending the curtains in the room whipping into the air, making enough noise to drown the eight-year-old out.

His mother turned around, one finger outstretched, and gave a harsh shush - as if scalding her children again. The noise grew faint.

She turned back to her son;

"I have something for you Pavi." She smiled, then reached out and with the softest of touches closed Pavi's eyes.

"What is it?" He whispered, letting a smile spread across his lips as he felt his mother's cold hands take his.

"I want you to remember me, Paviche." She said, "I know I'll live on in the hearts and minds of our dear family – but will the ones outside our safe hold know who I was? Of course not." Her grip increased slightly, as if she were teaching her son to cross the road again, "But, my dear, dear Pavi… you can allow me to live, in their eyes, and so much more!"

She turned over Pavi's hands and placed something cold and soft in his palms.

He opened his eyes to see his mother staring at him, her flawless white teeth effortlessly aligned in a permanent grin highlighted by sharp cheekbones below hollow eye sockets. He watched the lights dance off her gleaming, bare skull before looking down to see what was once covering the bone.

"It's-a beautiful, Madre…" he wheezed,

"Put it on." Delilah clicked,

"What?"

"_Put__ it __on!_" She hissed, "_Keep __me __alive!_"

Pavi looked down to see a gleaming needle with endless black thread in his lap.

"But-a, _Madre,_ I cannot-a sew! I have-a tried and-a failed! You have-a seen me!"

"Then why don't you burn it to you face, my Paviche?" His mother's voice was harsh with excitement, she spread her arms wide and large midnight-blue candles appeared lit all around his room,

"Madre?" Pavi whimpered and the largest candle floated right next to his face, beckoning him to take it.

"You've seen your brother do it to metal - so why not you to flesh?" His mother leant in close, the candlelight playing with the shadows in her eye sockets, "Quick, Paviche, use the candle!"

Down the hallway there were heavy double doors with curses and threats carved into the wood. And inside Luigi was awoken by an odd smell clogging his nostrils.

He sat up in bed, coughing and gagging and retching before he even knew what the scent was - that strange, sour, sickening smell, like boiled and burnt pork. He recognised it from a vile argument with the head chef at the mansion long ago; it was the smell of scorched and burning human flesh.

Acting on instinct he leapt out of bed, head snapping left and right to find the source of the fire. Nothing was there. However his skin prickled with a freezing wash of goose bumps as he heard a slow, gentle wail:

"Madre… Madre…"

Now, where had he heard that voice before? Low and deep, it was gurgled and slurred as if the person had a speech impairment.

A speech impairment that could be hidden with and accent.

Pavi!

"Madre… Madre…"

Luigi flung himself out the doors into a noxious black mist, in the dim light he immediately saw the flames licking up from the doors diagonal to his own. He charged at them. WHAM! Locked!

"Madre… Madre… Madre…"

"Snap out of it you shit head!" Luigi screamed and threw a high roundhouse kick at the lock, he felt something give way.

"Madre…"

The heat was intensifying – Luigi could feel his pyjamas gluing themselves to his sweaty chest. Smoke billowed from under the door. Luigi kicked it again.

"It 'urts Madre…" His brother's slur was becoming increasingly thicker, as I did when there was something to distract him.

Luigi gave a final shove at the lock, what momentum he'd caused was instantly taken away by a roar of flame and smoke barrelling outwards. The whole of Pavi's room was drowned in flame, no object recogisable from it surroundings, Luigi felt as if he was looking into Hell through his brother's bedroom doors.

There he was, kneeled with his hands to his face, his silky black hair gone and his clothes and skin ablaze with a foot of flames.

"Paviche! No!"

**Happy Halloween everyone. **


	4. Chapter 4

Luigi rocked back and forth in the chair, cradling his bruises and bandages and muttering the foulest and fiercest of curse under his breath. Every time his brother's unconscious form twitched Luigi would flinch, or rise in panic when one of the masses of machines connected to Pavi made a strange noise. He couldn't take his hollow eyes off the layers upon layers of crisp bandages all over the younger boy's face.

A young SurGEN walked carefully in, met with the sight of the bandaged and scorched boys and their solemn, already-dressed father. He'd already given to the collection for Frank's funeral; he had to watch what he said to the dreaded Largo family.

"Speak, boy." Rotti growled, without taking his eyes off his bed-ridden son. The SurGEN hurried past Luigi, who mumbled something along the lines of 'shithead better fix my brother'

The SurGEN gulped.

"What is it man?" Rotti growled,

"G-Good news… sir!" The SurGEN squeaked, he could hear the Luigi had stopped mumbling, "Your son has done no damage to his health, he will live easily."

He let himself smile, good news meant he lived.

"And his face?" Rotti asked, with warm eyes on the unconscious figure. There was a long, tense second as the doctor bid a sad goodbye to his head.

"I-i-it couldn't b-b-be-be sa-a-a-aved…" He clattered, "It w-a-a-as a-almos-s-st as if he-e wanted it on his face." He heard Luigi let out a small, involuntary wail, "I'm sorry."

"Go." Rotti rumbled, with a brief wave towards the door,

"Mr Largo?"

"Go!" He half-yelled, the power and wealth that his life oozed from its very pores had poured back into the old man's words, "Leave me with my sons!"

The SurGEN squeaked and mumbled a hasty 'yessir' as he scuttled out of the door and fled, crying, down the corridor. 

Pavi's finger twitched.

"_Madre!_" He mumbled, his voice grew urgent, _"__Papà!__"_ His father's eyes shot open and the man smiled, "_Luigi!_"

Luigi cringed at his younger brother's desperate, pleading tone.

"It's alright, Paviche." Rotti shushed in his deep velvet voice, he took one of his son's delicate hands in his, "Your brother and I are here, you're safe now."

Pavi's ears pricked up at the sound of Luigi mumbling.

"What-a happened?" He whispered, recalling his mother's unearthly plead – how could anything so surreal seem so faded now?

"You had an accident." Rotti gave his hand a small squeeze, "Your pretty face has been burnt badly, my son."

Pavi brought his other hand to the bandages. His face! His gorgeous face! The girls swooned for his perfect eyebrows and sharp cheekbones! His face was gone! He started to sob beneath the bandages.

"Oh, now don't cry Paviche." It genuinely pained Rotti to see his son in such despair, behind him Luigi hugged his injuries and concentrated on where his other shoe might be. "The doctors will fix you. You'll have any face you want."

Pavi took a deep, rattling breath; "Really?"

"Of course! Now, how about a good strong nose? And a good cleft chin? Any woman would want that!"

"_Papà_, please. I-a don't want-a any of-a that…"

"Then what do you want?" Rotti asked with mild confusion,

Pavi opened his palms and tilted his head, as if he could see through to his hands,

"You would-a buy-a any face?" he quizzed,

"Whichever you want."

Pavi took another deep breath, remembering how soft his mother's skin was, how flawless her features, and how right it felt to have her face on his.

"I want a… woman's face, _Papà_." He said firmly.

And the older Largos were, for the first time in their lives, truly speechless.


End file.
